


These Days of Dust

by Aramley



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8388094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aramley/pseuds/Aramley
Summary: Goodnight Robicheaux had not believed in love at first sight 'til he saw Billy Rocks knock a man clear across a saloon in Red Flats, Texas.





	

Goodnight Robicheaux had not believed in love at first sight ‘til he saw Billy Rocks knock a man clear across a saloon bar in Red Flats, Texas.

Billy Rocks had a sizeable price on his head, having killed two of his railroad gangmasters and lit off into the blue. Goodnight had seen some of the railroad conditions and for his part he had some sympathy for Rocks’ position on the matter, but dollars were dollars and Goodnight could not eat or drink his sympathies. He was in a rough patch at that time, raw-nerved and living precariously, and so the job appealed to him: the reward was high and Rocks was easily tracked. It seemed he could hardly enter a town without engaging in some kind of altercation, for beyond the distinction afforded to him by men’s prejudices they tended also to remember when they had been cheated by a man who brought a knife to a gunfight. That was a thing held in common among men who had encountered Billy Rocks: a deep-seated and angry disbelief in the man’s ability to be so quick on the draw. That, and all manner of bruising.

By the time Goodnight rode into Red Flats he'd gotten almost to like Billy.

Red Flats was a dusty little clutter of buildings, sleepy in the late afternoon sun and indistinguishable from a hundred other such frontier hamlets. Goodnight rode slowly along the main street, which was indeed the only street and barely deserving of the name, letting the good citizens get a look at him and tipping his hat to those bold enough to meet his eye. He had almost reached the bar when things were livened up considerably by the abrupt exit of one of its patrons via the unorthodox route of the plate glass window.

Goodnight dismounted and knelt by the writhing, complaining man.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, retrieving the notice for Billy Rocks from his coat pocket. "I don’t suppose you’ve happened to see this man?"

"Sumbitch broke by dose," said the man, though his eyes were screwed up tight with pain and he had both hands clutched to his face. "Coulda broke by deck!"

"Much obliged," said Goodnight, and stood. He gave the man a nudge with his boot to roll him out of the way of further harm but the sound he got in response was less than thankful. There was no helping some people, Goodnight reflected, and went into the saloon.

He walked into a standoff. Five men were ranged around a sixth in their midst, and the sixth was Billy Rocks. Their eyes met. Rocks had a greenish half-healed bruise around one eye and there was blood on his face. He was handsomer than his warrant notice had suggested.

Goodnight removed his hat and strolled on in.

"Please, gentlemen, don't mind me," he said, addressing the five but keeping his eyes on Rocks. "I would hate to interrupt."

He wasn't sure which of the men threw the first punch, but Goodnight knew a good bar brawl when he saw it and this one had all the makings of a spectacular. Skirting the melee, he took himself to the bar and found a decent bourbon and an unbroken glass and settled in to watch, though the fight didn't look to last long. By God, but Billy Rocks could hold his own; he'd put two on the ground before Goodnight could get the stopper out of the bottle. The third landed a good left hook before he got his other arm pinned up behind his back to breaking and his head driven down as a makeshift bludgeon into the stomach of the fourth, and number four went down easy with the wind knocked clean out of his sails and was persuaded to stay down by means of a judicious blow to the head, but three was back up in a second and swinging wildly with the good arm. Rocks ducked the blow and came up under on the other side fast with his fists already flying, one-two to the ribs and a jab to the jaw and that was all she wrote for number three. That just left number five, who was tall and heavyset and had arms that looked like ham haunches erupting from his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Billy Rocks was a little guy anyway but he looked goddamn dainty next to this one. Goodnight poured himself a double.

Big number five held back a little, skirting around the edges of Rocks' wingspan and smirking while Rocks threw little prizefighter jabs that connected with nothing but which Goodnight smiled over the rim of his glass to see: they were feints but the big guy hadn't understood that and all the while was drifting a little closer into Billy Rocks' space, lulled to carelessness while Rocks picked his moment to strike.

The punch that Billy Rocks landed ought to have been accompanied by thunderclaps or choirs of angels. Goodnight would have laid his hand to a Bible that it put a clear inch of space between big guy’s heels and the floor, and as he hit ground again and staggered fully four feet backwards to come to rest belly-up on a table, Goodnight’s mind was settled. To hell with the warrant. Billy Rocks dead or in jail was a goddamn waste.

"You, my friend," said Goodnight, whistling through his teeth, "are a true artist."

Rocks stood in the wreckage, panting a little with his labours. Goodnight was entranced.

"Who are you?" said Rocks, thickly. He spat red on the floor.

"Goodnight Robicheaux is my name." If Rocks had heard the name he gave no evidence of it. "And this –" Here Goodnight allowed himself a small theatrical flourish in producing the warrant from the inner pocket of his coat "- is a notice issued by the Northern Pacific Railroad who are, to my understanding, displeased with the manner in which you terminated your employment with said company."

Rocks’ mouth moved in a manner that Goodnight chose to interpret as a smile, though it bore greater resemblance to a predator’s flash of teeth.

"You come to collect?" he said.

"That was my intent," said Goodnight, nodding slowly. "Though I confess that I’ve since reconsidered my position on the matter."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, sir. Come take a drink with me and I’ll put to you a business proposition." 

Goodnight fished among the litter of shards along the bar to find a second whole glass and poured out a shot of bourbon once he’d located it. Billy Rocks stayed just where he was and watched Goodnight as though he were some unlikely species of animal, liable to violence. His fists were still clenched tight, blood on the knuckles. Goodnight held out the glass. 

A moment strung out, thick with tension. It went on so long that Goodnight started to wonder if he would have to kill Rocks after all. He didn’t want to kill him, partly on account of how his half-formed liking had blossomed after seeing the man in action and partly because he didn’t know if he could. Last night he had had the dream again, of the violent darkness with the glint of eyes in it and the voice that spoke only of his death, and always after the dream the thought of putting a hand to his gun again made his heart beat thick and his stomach weak. Take the glass, take the damned glass. He'd started to feel the prickle of a cold flopsweat beneath his shirt when Billy Rocks came forward and took the offered drink.

Rocks leaned his compact body up against the bar an arms-length away. "A business proposition?"

Goodnight grinned. "Your health," he said, and drank away his own bourbon in a long swallow that burned pleasantly and went some way to easing his jangled nerves. 

Rocks snorted and wiped away some of the blood on his face with a dirty shirtsleeve. 

"Well, here’s how I’ve come to see it," said Goodnight. "I’ve been tracking you around and about these little redneck counties and spoken to a number of aggrieved gentlemen along the way, and based on that and what I just witnessed I’d say you’re about the handiest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen."

"Much obliged," said Rocks, dry as a creek bed. He licked his cut lip and drank a sip, not wincing though it must have stung.

"So I say we go in together."

"Yeah?" Rocks let out a low breath that came close to being a laugh. He pushed his dishevelled hair away from his eyes, as though the better to take Goodnight’s measure. "How’d you reckon on that?"

"Because I’ve seen the trail you leave behind you, cowboy, and seems like you can’t set foot in a town without someone fixing to run you out of it." Goodnight nodded at the sparked-out bodies littering the saloon floor among the furniture wreckage. "Sooner or later their kind are gonna get sick of taking shots at your front and someone’s gonna put one on you where you won’t see it coming."

"You offering to be my bodyguard?" Rocks fixed him with a hard, assessing stare. "What do you get out of this?"

"A share of the profits, naturally," said Goodnight, smiling. "Commensurate with my position as your manager."

Rocks set his glass down on the bar. "I don’t need a manager."

"Hell," said Goodnight, knowing at once that he had made a misstep there and that Rocks’ hackles were up. Better talk your ass off now, Robicheaux. "And I ain't looking for an employee. That manager stuff will just be for the good old boys. See now what these folks are looking for is an easy mark and that, my friend, is what you currently appear to be to them, quick hands or no. Now you may not have heard of Goodnight Robicheaux, and I ain’t one to brag, but that’s a name that carries weight to some people and if it gets around that you’re with me I can promise you an easier ride than the one you’ve had so far."

"Yeah?" Rocks eyes skimmed over Goodnight quickly, sceptical. "Still doesn’t answer the question of what you get out of this deal, Goodnight Robicheaux. Won’t pay like bounty hunting."

"I’ve been thinking of getting out of my current line of employment," said Goodnight, though he wasn’t about to let on the true reason for his being desirous of a change of occupation, so he said, "I’m getting pretty tired of chasing over all of creation to drag some no-good lowlife back to the warrant office – meaning no offence to your good self, of course – and here an opportunity for enterprise has presented itself. I think you and I could go a long way together, Billy Rocks."

"Oh, you do?" Billy Rocks. 

"I certainly do. You hear that?" Outside the aftermath-quiet of the bar a murmur of raised voices had been slowly gathering. "Sounds like the townsfolk have rustled up their pitchforks and these boys’ here’ll be up and scratching their sore heads soon enough. Here’s my proposition: let’s you and I walk out of here right now. Think of it by way of an audition. I’ll get you to the edge of town and if you want to split ways there then fair’s fair, I’ll wish you good luck and ride off in the other direction. But if you like what you see, we ride together for a spell and see how we fit. How’s that sound?"

Billy Rocks watched him for a moment longer, as though he were trying to puzzle Goodnight out but found he wasn't able to. Then he threw back the rest of his drink in a quick swallow and set the glass down hard.

"Sounds like you like the sound of your own voice," he said, and pushed back from the bar. "I need to get my things."

"Well, alright," said Goodnight, smiling. He watched Rocks collect his belongings with a feeling as though he had reached a point in a good book where things had taken an interesting turn, a sort of skip-ahead eagerness to know what would happen next. It had been a long while since he’d felt anything of the sort about the story of his own life.

Rocks’ effects didn’t amount to more than a saddlebag and a gun-belt fairly laden with long knives. He swung on his jacket and settled his hat and when he was good and ready he stood and looked at Goodnight expectantly. Goodnight retrieved his own hat, winked at Rocks and led the way. He couldn’t be sure, but he believed he observed an unsubtle roll of the eyes.

Outside a small crowd had gathered and was waxing excitable. Goodnight had brought in the pitchforks for rhetorical effect but damned if there wasn’t some hick at the back with a two-pronged hay fork, and another next to him with what appeared to be a shovel. 

"Dat’s de one," spat a character from the front whom Goodnight recognised as his defenestrated informant, still clutching a bloodied nose with one big hand and the other curled into a ready fist.

"Easy now, easy," said Goodnight. He held up his hands in a peaceable fashion and looked around the assembled crowd with his most charming, Louisiana smile plastered on. "Seems as there’s been some kind of misunderstanding here, I believe."

A little man with an old star pinned to his jacket bellied to the front of the crowd and stood square in front of Goodnight.

"And who might you be, causing all this disturbance?" he demanded, his hands hovering over his hip holsters and his dirty-whiskered chin lifted in defiance of the full head of height that Goodnight had over him.

"Name’s Goodnight Robicheaux," said Goodnight, and the sheriff’s strutting posture collapsed in on itself like an old lean-to settling into the dust. Notoriety did indeed have its compensations.

"Mister Robicheaux, sir," said the sheriff, all careful affability now. "I say, it’s an honour – I was at Sharpsburg mesself sir, and –"

"This is my associate, Billy Rocks," Goodnight continued, clipping the sheriff’s speech before he started offering war stories. They made him queasy. Goodnight beckoned Rocks forward until they were side by side and Goodnight could lay a friendly hand on his shoulder. Rocks was very still under the touch, still wary. "Sheriff, I’m sorry to say I’m a little disappointed in the manner of welcome my friend has received in your town."

"Mister – Mister Robicheaux, sir," the sheriff said. His eyes cut to Billy Rocks and then back to Goodnight, or rather, to someplace in the region of Goodnight’s right shoulder. "Nobody meant any disrespect, sir, only –" 

"Hm?" said Goodnight. He put a little steel in it and raised an eyebrow, for effect. "Is there something about my friend here that warrants such a lack of hospitality from the fine folks of Red Flats?"

There were some disgruntled murmurings from the crowd, but the sheriff’s show of deference seemed to have inspired most of them to civility and the thread of tension started to unwind. The hayfork was listing at half-mast and the shovel-wielder, having been disappointed of a reason to beat his plough-share into a sword, so to speak, had wandered off. Goodnight smiled indulgently.

"Well, being as no harm was done," he said, with a sideways look at the man with the broken nose who now seemed disinclined to argue the point, "how’s about we put this little disagreement aside and me and Billy’ll be on our way?"

And oh, the good sheriff liked that very much indeed: his face lit up like a sunbeam and he was all handshakes and offers of assistance. Their horses could not be brought round quick enough, and provisions were even pressed upon them by a hard-faced woman who turned out to be the sheriff’s wife. They were hustled out of town with all grace and entreaties to come back soon, delivered in a manner that was almost convincing. Goodnight swore that he could not wait to return and sample more fully of the pleasures of Red Flats and Billy Rocks stayed gracefully silent throughout the ordeal, though when Goodnight caught his eye he did not think he was mistaken in seeing a glitter of dark amusement there that boded well.

They were some safe distance away over open grassland when Billy Rocks drew his horse up and said, in a tone heavy with irony, "That was some show, Mister Robicheaux."

Goodnight drew up beside him. "I’m as good as my word, aren’t I?"

"I guess so," said Rocks. He was looking at Goodnight with that expression again, the one that said that Goodnight was a mystery he could not parse, and that that fact irritated him. "So you were some kind of big deal in the war?"

Goodnight laughed, and heard a bitter note in it that he couldn't help. "Some kind of something."

Rocks looked at him longer and Goodnight wondered if he would ask. But he seemed to decide instead that he wouldn’t give Goodnight what he clearly imagined to be the satisfaction of his curiosity: he looked away, scanning the flat lands for landmarks, settling his sights finally on a low brown ridge of hills to the west. 

"Been thinking about getting out of Texas," Goodnight said, trailing the offer lightly. He felt instinctively that Billy Rocks did nothing that was not his own full-hearted choice, a quality that drew him but one which he must be careful not to excite into contrariness; he found that he badly wanted Billy to go along with him, even if it was an impulse he did not quite yet dare to face head on. "Been thinking about seeing something new."

"Equal shares, or I go now," said Rocks.

"Fair’s fair," said Goodnight. Rocks nodded with satisfaction that they had got that squared away early on.

"Better put some miles between us and them," said Rocks, indicating with one dismissive hitched shoulder the little town behind. He nudged his horse forward, seemingly content to let Goodnight follow along as he pleased.

"Well, alright," said Goodnight. He spurred on his own horse and drew level with his new travelling companion, and allowed himself a pleased sideways look at Rocks’ impassive, still-bloodstained face. He knew nothing about Billy Rocks save that he was a murderer and a whirlwind in a bareknuckle brawl, and he supposed that ought to have discomforted him some, though Rocks was in the worse position really: all he knew of Goodnight was his name. 

"Stop it," said Rocks, without looking at him.

"Alright," said Goodnight, laughing to himself, and did. He looked instead at the green grasslands and hills under a golden sun, and everything else ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> Did not expect this film to be the thing to break my writing drought, but cowboy husbands, who knew! Title from Mumford and Sons, 'I Will Wait'.


End file.
